apartment hunting, and finding meaning in living alone
In the fall, I'll be moving to a new city to pursue graduate studies. I thought it'd be a good idea to move in a few months early to get a feel for the area - and also avoid fighting over good areas around campus, especially if I wait too long.
Next week I'm flying out to visit some apartments. It dawned upon me that this would be the first time where I live truly alone - no housemates, roommates, parents, pets - it'll be just me, in a new city. I'm excited of course, but also quite scared. The thought of being free and landing into a new city is something amazing, but for the first time, I'm really on my own.
I moved back with my parents to save on rent a year ago. And while I do appreciate them for their generosity, I think it's time for me to leave; I've been paying rent with my mental health, something a lot of Asian kids can relate to. I also feel restricted when I came back to the city where I attended high school. It was like I'm in purgatory: suffering for some time before entering heaven (a place of my own).
It's a big step, despite something I'm excited for. Yet very scary. But if I'm scared to do it, it's exactly because I'm scared that I should do it.
I think I'm ready now. Ready to take that big leap, into a new home, nearly a thousand miles away from where I grew up.
The (paper) journal I've kept since 2020 is reaching the last few pages, appropriately. It's as if it knew that my journey here was coming to an end, and a new one will begin soon.
I'll be buying a new notebook once in Seattle. Only appropriate when closing a chapter, no?